Short of Decay
by MassEffectBountyHunter
Summary: An unexpected group of survivors meet and must band together to survive the horrors of the apocalypse. There will be action, emotion, thrill, adventure, gore and. . . a dwarf? Follow this group of survivors as they fight for their lives in the ultimate survival of the fittest! Hell, join them yourselves! (OC SUBMISSION, ACCEPTING THE TOP EIGHT, RUBRIC/PROLOGUE INSIDE) (T FOR NOW)
1. Good Morning

** Short of Decay**

** A/N: Hey guys, this story is an OC submission story. That means you (the reader), are able to submit up to one OC (other character), into the story! My goal is lead an action-packed, intense, gore-filled adventure built around a unique cast of characters I'm hoping you guys are willing to make! So enough chit chat, below you'll find the rubric for creating an OC. Simply answer the following and either PM or review it to the story: **

**Name (First, Last):**

**Age:**

**Physical Appearance (Includes tats, piercing, height,): **

**Occupation:**

**Traits (Up to three): **

**Biggest Strength:**

**Biggest Weakness:**

**Religion:**

**Sexuality (Only if Open to Romance): **

**Team Player (Yes or No):**

**Open to Romance (Yes or No): **

**Brief Background (1-2 sentences):**

** A/N: Again, please either PM or review your character to me. Keep posted for acceptance, updates, and that sort of thing. Now let's give you a taste for the story with one of our characters… He's short. Like, really short. **

* * *

He awoke from his rock-hard bed like always, grumpy and stiff. His back ached, his stubby legs were cramped, and his head throbbed. Such was the daily misery for the small man, for he dealt with this most every morning.

Sitting up in the enormous bed, or at least enormous to him, he began to knead the back of his calves with his knuckles. More often than not he was able to work out the cramps before having to crawl out of bed. The days he couldn't were the worst. Nothing compared to the anguish he faced if he couldn't work out the sharp pains. Walking around the office was excruciating with leg cramps, especially with his condition. A normal person would probably have nowhere near the issue it created for Kyle.

After nearly five minutes of his futile attempt to cure the cramps, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and quite literally fell to the floor from his bed.

"Son of a bitch," he groaned from the floor. He never intended to flop out of bed in such a way, but with such short limbs it was near impossible to properly leave his sheets.

And so like every morning, Kyle picked himself off the floor and walked across the apartment in his goofy manner. Upon reaching the white wooden counter, he grabbed a chair from the small kitchen table and pulled it against the wood. Kyle then proceeded to climb atop the chair and start the process of making coffee. As the coffee machine set to work on his mug, he climbed back down to the floor and made for the bathroom where a stool awaited him. He ascended the stool and found himself looking at the pathetic excuse of a human being he was.

His mop of auburn hair was tussled from a bad night's sleep, his forehead was still too big, and his blue eyes were still plagued with dark bags underneath. Staring in the mirror, he realized his beard stubble had returned, and was sadly reminded by the glass. . .

. . . That he was a midget.

Dwarfism was the exact, medical term. As such, Kyle preferred being called a dwarf to that of a midget. The word midget felt offensive and derogatory to him. To be frank, he hated the word, and went out of his little way to make sure anyone that called him it, suffered his dissatisfaction. His neighbor Hubert Hill, was one such person that Kyle often demonstrated his not-so-nice attitude towards.

Brushing his teeth and splashing water at his face from the oversized sink, he soon found himself back in the kitchen where his coffee steamed. Eagerly he pulled the blue mug from the machine and took a lengthy sip. Lowering it from his lips, he nodded his approval, savoring the taste. For a little man like Kyle, he sure loved his morning coffee. It was safe to say the little man wouldn't function without it.

The dwarf hopped down from the kitchen chair, waddled back into the bland bedroom, and discovered his work clothes lying in a basket. Frowning at the childish-looking suit and tie, he wasted no time yanking on miniature gray khakis. Afterwards he fumbled with a button up shirt, gray suit coat, and maroon tie. All in all, getting dressed for work each morning took Kyle almost ten minutes. His legs were always difficult to pull pants over, his balance was clumsy at best, and his stumpy fingers always struggled with buttons. _Always. _

Ready to take on the day at the office, Kyle finished half his mug of coffee before pouring it down the kitchen drain he could hardly reach. The dwarf retrieved a mini-black leather briefcase from his bedroom and marched out into the apartment building's hallway.

Colonial Apartments was a modest downtown apartment complex of about twenty rooms. Its doors were green, its carpet dusty brown, and Kyle's least favorite part, its hallway long. But then again, as Kyle always had to remind himself, to a normal man this hallway would be no longer than any other. To Kyle however, it seemed twice as long. . .

Looking to his right and then his left, he spotted a person hobbling along next to the wall with long gray hair drooping past stooped shoulders. He recognized the old, hunchbacked, Hubert Hill from miles away. The old vulture was drunk most every day, just like many other occupants living under Colonial Apartments' roof. Instead of taking the usual route, Kyle smiled and made his way towards the man dragging himself across the wall.

Passing Mr. Hill's room, he found the door ajar. It was accompanied by a ripe stench, strong enough to make any man scrunch his face and turn away. Kyle was no exception, he set off down the hall after Mr. Hill.

"Mr. Hill! Are you aware your door is open? Or tell me, did one go out and drink too much again? You know. . . I hear that's unhealthy for old men like you. Your liver's going to clog up like a shit-filled toilet and burst one of these days, don't say I didn't warn you." Kyle kept his voice light and cheerful, but was shocked when the old drunk didn't whip around and curse at him. _Perhaps I was right all along and the man finally has gone insane, _Kyle thought to himself with a grin. "Oh Mr. Hill!"

The man stopped near a doorway, pressing one side of his face against the wall awkwardly. Kyle stopped to stare, it appeared all of Mr. Hill's weight was on the wall. Beginning to ponder the unusual behavior, the dwarf heard the blaring car horns and sirens for the first time outside. Kyle furrowed his brows and looked to the ceiling as if expecting it to start raining cars. With no such luck, he lowered his gaze down the wall and froze on the spot, his eyes widening.

Slick, dark crimson was smeared across the chalk-white walls. . .

Making a face, the dwarf approached, stretched up to swipe a finger across it, and then stuck the finger in his mouth. He sucked his finger clean and removed it from his mouth examining it like a doctor. _Blood for sure, _he realized, his gaze shooting back down the hall to Mr. Hill who still hadn't moved. _His blood? _

"Mr. Hill. . . Are you alright?" He called but didn't receive an answer. "Mr. Hill?"

Finally the old man peeled himself from the wall and turned around to emit a shriek of inhuman proportions. Kyle stared in complete shock at his neighbor. What was left of Hubert Hill's face was a bloodied mess of hanging skin and torn flesh. All one could distinguish from the mess was the old man's crooked nose, one harsh eye, and blood caked lips. The rest of his person was also rather blood soaked, especially his hands, the hallway lighting making them shine with red.

"Anddddd. . . He still looks better than me," the dwarf muttered, seconds before Mr. Hill launched into a mad gimp towards him. Kyle frowned, and looked behind him in confusion. _Oh wait, if there's no one behind me. . . He's probably coming for. . . _

The dwarf jumped into a uncoordinated run back down the apartment hallway, his pursuer rasping behind him. It was all poor Kyle could do to keep from falling as he stumbled his way back towards his apartment, spying another badly wounded person at the other end of the hall.

"What is it with you people getting seriously hurt," he yelled, digging madly in his pocket for the key. He had reached his door but ugly Hubert Hill was just about upon him, clawing with bloodied hands. "AH SHIT!" The dwarf moved backwards just in time for his attacker to fall face first into the ground. Kyle stared in complete bewilderment, his hand still digging fiercely for the key stuck in the deepest bowel of his pocket. At last he tore it free, only to have Mr. Hill crawling towards him on all four limbs.

"Oh god you're even uglier up close! No wonder your room smelt so terrible this morning," the dwarf exclaimed, backing himself against the door across from his. Mr. Hill wasn't hesitating, his wrinkled, blood stained hand inches from Kyle's face. "Ah, fuck off! You smell funny!" Kyle moved to the right and clumsily raised his briefcase high over his head, only to bring it crashing down over Mr. Hill's.

With a triumphant _thud, _Mr. Hill smacked the ground. Kyle smiled to himself all to pleased but turned just in time to see the other mutilated person dragging closer. She was a woman wearing a nice dress, the flesh from her legs and neck missing. Now all that remained were bloody holes, gapping at Kyle like her red lips.

"What the hell is wrong with you people," Kyle demanded, scurrying to his door to shove the key in. He gave the knob a twist and rushed in, peeking through the door just in time to see Mr. Hill rise again, before slamming the door shut. Immediately Kyle pulled the kitchen chair close, ascended and stretched for the door lock. Gritting his teeth he strained his little arm to go higher and higher, desperately trying to reach the latch. _Come on you stubborn fool. Come on, she died bringing you into this world now don't waste her sacrifice! _

The thought inspired him. He had hold of the lock enough to slide it across the metal, sealing the door shut just as one of his attackers rammed the door, knocking him from the chair to the ground with a _bang. _

"Yeah, fuck you too," he grumbled, gathering himself off the floor. It was the next bang against the door that made him shove the chair underneath the door's handle to serve as a feeble barricade. He then backed away to stare in awe, wondering what the hell he had missed overnight. Curiosity overpowering his better judgment, Kyle made his way across the apartment bow-legged and goofy as always. Climbing atop his bed, he crawled to the window and took a deep breath. Without another moment's hesitation, he pulled the curtains aside and found his jaw dropping.

". . . _Well that's. . . That's peculiar," he heard himself say. _


	2. Faces

**Short of Decay **

Deserted, abandoned, and unlocked. That was just the way Theo Snowden liked to find things.

In most cases, looting and thieving was challenging. Only the deft of hand and incredibly sly were up for such a challenge, _but now. . . _Cars were left in the street unoccupied, doors were left open, and people were in hiding. Looting and thieving had gone from being a taboo, to a ritual. The only eyes roaming the city were the undead, and to Theo, they were seen simply as pests. Flies antagonizing the light bulb that was him. _They would never be a real danger, but they would always be a nuisance, _he liked to tell himself.

The morning was bleak, gray, and ruinously lonely as Theo walked along. He kept both hands buried in the pockets of his gray jacket to stave off fall's icy bite. _The last thing he needed was frostbite._

Like always, the young man had his tan satchel hanging from one shoulder against his hip, currently light as feather. The hope was that today he'd fill it with valuables. With what happened the night before, he figured it'd by like taking candy from a baby.

The first undead he encountered this morning, had been a police officer. Obese, balding and old, the officer was ghastly pale, his uniform stained in crimson. Already over the initial shock of seeing walking corpses from the night before, Theo calmly assessed the situation. It was all too easy for nimble Theo to crouch and sneak past the zombie along the side of a black Chevy. Unaware of Theo's presence, the moaning officer dragged on down the car-congested street. Theo couldn't help but smile as he stood erect again, and continued his search for nice things. Nearly a half-hour passed before he found something of value in the concrete maze of the city.

A red Shelby GT500. The sports car was glorious to behold parked against the curb, miraculously unharmed by the night's turn. _Too bad it won't fit in a satchel, _Theo mused in his head. Unlike most vehicles Theo had passed, this car didn't have so much as a single drop of blood on it. It was clean, _shining_ almost. It was more than Theo could have hoped for as he approached, his pale blue eyes flicking with excitement. Reaching the car, he placed a hand on the hood and slid it up to the car's open window, the smell of new car greeting his nostrils. The same hand moved from the hood of the car to the door handle, but just as he gripped it, a cold shiver sparked down his spine.

"I'd let go of the car if I was you."

The voice was southern Theo realized immediately, as he looked up to find a broad-shouldered stranger standing on the sidewalk. Theo was surprised to see another living, breathing person and narrowed his eyes, drinking in the fellow survivor. The man was normal enough, dark brownish-black hair covering the top of his head while a baseball sleeve shirt covered his muscular build. _And here I thought I was the only one. . . _

"And just why should I do that," Theo asked, flicking light brown hair from his eyes. "Finders keepers? Are you trying to play that game? It's actually a personal favorite of mine." The man regarded him coolly, his hands in fists at his sides.

"No, I own it. And you should step away because I said so."

"How do I know you're not lying," Theo replied, a wry smile creeping beneath his hooked nose. "You could just be saying its your car when really. . . It used to belong to someone else. So tell me, just what sort of proof do you have? Hell, what's the plate number?" The man said nothing, continuing to glare. "That's kind of sad, you don't know your own plate number? Well here let me tell ya." Theo walked to the front of the car, wary of the man's following eyes. "MGA-345. I get the feeling you didn't know that."

"Or maybe I just didn't have to answer. Now get lost. The world is hell enough without people like you." Theo gave a reproachful look.

"Ouch, ya know I think I might shed a tear!" The man was cold as ice, he didn't so much as twitch at the sarcasm. "Wow, you're a real joy aren't cha? You keep on keeping on like this and any living person is going to leave your sorry ass in the dust. Not that that's my problem, mind you, I like the individual freedom." Still the man stared through him, mistrust evident on his face. There was a moment of vehement silence between the two before the stranger reached behind his back and produced a gun. Theo froze as he stared down the shiny silver barrel. "Well, that's a pretty looking gun."

The pair of unacquainted young men gouged each other with their eyes until the scream of another turned their heads down the road. The scream was followed by a chorus of moans and groans. A single ragged man jogged into the center of a three-way intersection, looking quite tired. He keeled over and leaned against a car, the inhuman groans echoing closer by the second. Theo was amazed to the see the man next to him raise his unarmed hand and wave.

"OVER HERE! HUR-," Theo tackled him to the unforgiving concrete before he could finish the words. After a few dazed moments, the man threw Theo off with ease, his face contorted in anger. "What the hell was that for!?" Behind him the first few walking dead came into view.

Theo half crouched, half stood from the ground, watching him intently. The herd's prey was yelling out loud from the intersection.

"HEY! HELLO? ANYONE! SOMEBODY HELP ME! PLEASEEEE!"

The man looked over his shoulder at the herd as they swarmed into the intersection, their target shambling in his vague direction. Sensing movement out of the corner of his eye, he whipped around just in time to see Theo slip into his home. A wave of anger came over him as his face boiled red.

"HEY GET OUT OF THERE," he yelled, bursting through the door with his gun aimed.

The shiny Colt six-shooter was a hand-me-down from his long deceased grandfather, and he was very familiar with how to use it. Even now, as he waved it through his residential shit hole of an apartment searching for an intruder, he could feel confidence and security radiating from the gun. It leaked through the gun into his hands and into his veins, filling him with heated adrenaline. The type of adrenaline that wouldn't make him think twice about pulling the trigger.

Slowly moving into the living room, he found everything undisturbed. Unfortunately, the apartment embraced a gloomy dark with the window shutters down, giving his intruder that many more places to hide. But he dare not open the shutters. It was hard to say how many dead were lurking just outside the glass. Speaking of the undead, his thoughts went back to the man in the street. Pity filled his chest and he found himself turning back to the door, only to be greeted with a frying pan.

The metal screeched against his skull, knocking him to the floor with the gun bouncing free of his hand. Wide-eyed with an agonizing banging in his head, he shuffled to his feet as Theo dropped the frying pan and dived for the gun. They crashed together in a heap on the floor with a thud, grunting as they both desperately reached for the gun mere inches away. On the bottom, Theo found himself at a disadvantage. _I should have killed him with the frying pan, _he thought glumly.

Together the two wrestled fiercely, Theo eventually rolling to his back in an attempt to escape. It was no use. All the maneuver did for him was pull his hair and give his adversary a better position over him. Before he could comprehend the rapid arm motions between the two, the man's hands found his throat. Theo's pale hands went to his choker's and tried to pry them loose, but the choker was strong. The firm hands continued to crush the life from Theo's throat, reddening his face and blurring his vision. _Shit. . . End of the line? _Theo tried a feeble punch at the man's face but missed by a mile as darkness began to overcome him. _Shit. .. The world finally becomes completely free and I die. What irony. . . _

Just as the intruder's eyes creaked shut, Gary released him to stare. _Did I just. . . Did I just kill this guy? No, no, no. . ._

Panic washed over him as he leaned down to the intruder's face, listening intently. It was faint, so very faint, but he could make it out just barely. A raspy, unconscious breathing. The intruder was alive, granting Gary the gift of relief. There was no way he could cope with killing someone. . . _At least not this early in hell. . . _

Climbing off the younger man, he retrieved his revolver and abruptly remembered the man outside. Euphoric adrenaline filled him again as he rushed out the apartment door back onto the street to witness the inevitable.

The older man was gray haired and pasty white, but he was done for. Twenty yards from where Gary stood, he already laid on the pavement flailing uselessly. The undead were tearing into him one by one, his screams growing louder and wilder with each new bloody face biting into him. After watching for the blood bath for mere seconds, dirty blood-stained legs of the staggering horde blocked all vision of the dying victim. But the absolute worst part of it all, was the herd of undead lumbering down the street.

They were truly endless in number. Scarlet smeared face upon scarlet smeared face was all Gary could see. They stretched all the way back to the intersection like an army, and were _still _pouring from the other street like a flood. Bloody, filthy, and moaning. Gary made eye contact with a tall bald man tripping towards him, the rest of the herd seeming to follow. No longer able to hear the man's screams, Gary found it difficult to understand what he was doing. He gritted his teeth raised the gun two-handed, his finger pulled the trigger.

The inner workings of the pistol ignited, a fiery explosion spitting the .357 round down the length of the six inch barrel. The sound left a ring in Gary's ears as the round spiraled into the skull of the bald man, spewing brain matter, blood, and bone to the cement below. The mangled corpse of the once human fell backwards at the feet of a dozen more of its kind, each groaning their legs to hobble faster. Gary let loose a gasp and started to back peddle, the majority of the herd's focus now on him. He fired another shot, this bullet clipping a shoulder and ripping through a hand before resting in the chest of a fat African-American. Gary began to panic. Hands shaking, perspiration dripping, eyes scanning faces wildly, he turned and ran back inside.

Without thinking the door slammed shut behind him, the shrieks of the undead rapidly increasing in volume. He locked it and backed away, staring in complete shock. It didn't long for the first of the ghouls to reach the door, their hands pounding and clawing at the white wood. _The backdoor, that was his best route for escape. _

Jogging through the living room with gun in hand, he snatched a duffle bag from the couch and heaved it over a shoulder. Frisking his person to make sure he had what he wanted, he stormed down the small hallway past a tiny bathroom and pitiful bedroom. Reaching the back door, he opened it cautiously, only to find the back alley empty. A single shoe got out the door before realization dawned on him. . .

_ He was forgetting something. _

* * *

It was difficult to say how long Kyle sat in his apartment, listening to the crazies abuse his door. So far the small man had consumed three mugs of coffee, pissed four times, and taken a long, satisfying shit. Knowing his luck, he was quite amazed the door didn't give while he was on the toilet. Course that would have been a shitty death, quite literally. Alas, Kyle Quincent remained alive. He sat on the floor, staring at the wall deep in thought. _I could open the door and let them kill me. . . I mean, its not like my life got any better with their arrival. _

The choice was very much entirely his, and he hated it. He despised nearly everything about his life. His job, his family, hell, even his apartment. He had nothing, and for the first time, he was actually beginning to grasp the concept.

His gaze drooping from the wall for the first time in what felt like years, he slowly staggered to his feet and even slower, waddled to his bed. Heaving himself onto the mattress, he crawled across the sheets to once again view the outside world. It hadn't changed from before.

Carter Street, one of the city's busiest marketing streets, was a disaster. Everywhere one could look from Kyle's height was like to make one frown. Cars were crashed, upturned, smoking, dented, and beaten. Some even burned, small little flames creeping underneath their dented hoods. They reminded Kyle of mouths with cigarettes, flames flickering between metal lips.

Perhaps in more pain than the cars, were the shops. Shattered glass, merchandise, and blood spat from their brick faces like vomit. Up and down the street every building's shop was the same, no matter how popular it once was. Even Kyle's favorite pawn shop on the end looked to be in bad shape. All of it was downright depressing.

And then there were the bodies. . . Some walked and some didn't, but every last one was mangled, crimson, and rotting. The stench of them already reeking its way through the city like a snake, casting a shroud of relentless rot. Kyle dared not observe much longer for fear of retching, and pulled himself away to lay on the bed.

He found himself staring at the mundane ceiling, pondering life like he never had before. _Stay here and starve to death, or open the door and embrace death? What a pleasant decision to make! _A smile danced across his lips.

Allowing his mind to run free, he thought of his customers. Each and every damn one coming to him for financial advice, and each and every damn one stopping to snicker before taking him seriously. _Well they all got theirs. . . The lot of them are hopefully dead by now. _

His thoughts then went to his family. Garret Quincent, his millionaire father, renown for his hotel business, Marsha Quincent, his bitter sister, and of course, Derrick, his famous brother. All three were much more pleasant than him, and much fairer to look upon. However, underneath fake pearly smiles, they might as well be one person. Hate itself lived in the trio. They breathed, ate, slept, and dreamt of hatred for one particular person. Little, ugly, Kyle Quincent. _The murderer and final son of Taylor Quincent. . ._

Lingering on photographs of his mother in his head, Kyle stirred and leapt off the bed curling his fists. Sometimes he _really_ disliked his thought process. This was one such instance.

Irritated, the dwarf began to pace the apartment. Hands clasped behind his back, his eyes found the floor and his feet shuffled along. His mind was racing, his heart starting to beat. Soon sweat began to trickle past his brow, causing him to rip the suit coat from his shoulders and throw it the carpet. A new concept had burrowed into him. A new hope, a new belief. . . _A fresh start in a world of chaos. _

Kyle stopped pacing. Determination filled his little heart as he eyed the door, envisioning the monsters on the other side.

"Right," he said quietly, making for the kitchen cabinets. Inside he grabbed the first utensil he found, a four inch knife. It would serve as good as anything else he found, so he took it and approached the chair-guarded door with apprehension. "Well. . . This is for you mother. Wish me luck."

Kyle yanked the chair from it's tilted position and waited, coming to the conclusion that if he didn't open the door himself, it might take awhile for the door to give. So grumbling curses to himself, the dwarf seized the chair, pulled it back and climbed on top of it. He struggled to keep his footing against the shaking wood, but bit his lip, giving his best attempt to reach the lock. He succeeded much quicker than before, but was taken totally unaware when the door flew open, slamming him against the wall.

In stumbled grotesque Hubert Hill and the woman, both falling into each other along with the kitchen table. They rolled together in a jumble of gnashing teeth, groans, and thuds before coming to rest near Kyle's bed. A streak of red ran along the tile pointing after them, giving Kyle a clear sense of where to find them as he regained his footing behind the door. He slipped out of the crevice just in time for the woman to spot him and hiss.

"Yes, yes, hiss, hiss. Come on you stupid bitch, I'm right here, come and get me," he said from the apartment doorway, sounding much braver than he really was. The horrific creatures wrestled apart from each other and began a crude march towards him. The knife in Kyle's hand felt foreign as sweat pooled in his palm. Then with a shriek, the women fell on him, the knife digging into her shoulder as they toppled to the floor.

Kyle pushed with all his might, his hands only succeeding in keeping the woman's snapping jaws from his lips. In addition to keeping cannibalism at bay, the dwarf was forced to smell her rancid breath. The foul scent scrunching Kyle's face up just as his neighbor joined the dog pile, flopping right on top of the woman's back. Kyle's expression went from disgusted to shocked at the weight change, his stubby arms shaking with the effort of keeping his face from hers.

"I . . . Don't . . . Want to . . . Kiss you, woman!" As if replying to his shout, the woman's putrid red eyes grew bigger. Her pupils casting his reflection as she edged closer with open jaws, Kyle closed his eyes. _A dwarf was never destined for this world. . . Best to die trying rather than not, right? _

Despite his eyes being closed, he sensed the shift of focus from him.

One eye flicked open just in time for the woman's matted hair to sweep across his face. She was looking down the hallway, but at what? _A more appetizing meal than me? _

"WHAT'S UP BITCHES!"

A woman's freakish loud voice came from above, accompanied by a swooshing sound that ended with a sick crunch. From Kyle's position he couldn't hope to see who was beyond the nasty woman's head, so logically, he squirmed. Without the woman's grueling stare, he found it quite easy to slip from her grasp and pop out on his rump from underneath her. Hissing, her gaze returned to his, but only for a second.

"AND BAM BITCH! ONE FOR YOU TOO!" An aluminum bat swept down at the woman's head, catching her in the side of the face and claiming a chunk of her cranium. Bits of bone, hair, and blood spattered to the floor and Kyle's shoes, the dwarf's jaw dropping in appall. He inclined his head upwards only to find he didn't have to look very far, she like him, was quite short.

"Heyyy, you're the little dude! The midget that lives here," she exclaimed, her bright smile contrasting her caramel-colored face. The African-American woman was his savior, and gods be good did Kyle find her attractive. Curves where they needed to be, dark burgundy hair cut close to the scalp, and a very pretty face. He was disappointed to remember who she was.

"And you're the whore," he replied, perhaps too coolly. The woman's eyes lost their cheer and narrowed.

"Well aren't you a little charming shit. I just saved your life and that's what you have to say? No thank you, or oh Cheri, thank god you came! Just, "Oh, and you're the whore!" Come on man, that's low, even for someone of your height!"

Kyle scowled and gathered his feet, patting the blood off his shirt.

"Well, for your information, I take great offense to being called a midget."

"AND I TAKE GREAT OFFENSE TO BEING CALLED A WHORE!" Kyle was stunned at the retort, and had to regain his composure to the taller woman. Albeit, she was hardly any taller than he was. _Maybe ten inches. . . Can't even be a foot taller, _the dwarf pondered. "So, you gonna thank me or just stare?" Kyle swallowed, his throat desert-dry from the near death encounter.

"T-Thank you, for saving my life," he stammered. His faced down the hallway instead of at her, the improper mannerism made the woman roll her eyes. Between their feet lay the new skull-dashed bodies, each stiff as a dead tree coated in crimson.

"Apology so not accepted, but no worries, you can make up for it down the road." Kyle looked to her in mild surprise. "What? You wanna split up and try surviving on your own? Have you seen the city? Everything's fucked. . . We should stick together." Kyle wrestled with his tongue and thoughts for words. "As long as you can watch my back, I got yours. What do you say little man?"

_ Maybe this new world is the start of some hellish heaven for me. _

"To that, I say I will try not to be a burden." His eyes examined the silverfish-red bat clutched in her hand warily. _So much blood is going to make that thing rust._ "I'm afraid dwarfism isn't the easiest thing to simply shake off." To that, she laughed, getting him to smile slightly.

_ "Well, nice to finally meet you neighbor. . . The name's Cheri." _


End file.
